Merely Physical.

Just when I was becoming a pro.

For the past few months, I have come to terms with the fact that I don't like emotional attachment, that I don't like having an outside influence on my every decision.

I used to get up in the morning and, depending on whether or not I had class with him that day, pick out my outfit.

Not bad enough? I would also pretend to organize my things in order to walk out of class right before or after him.

There's worse. Hoping to park by him in the student parking lot, I would try find out where he parks.

Oh yes, that's bad.

Now, the male pronouns don't refer to a specific boy, just whoever was my current "flavor." Flavor is used instead of "crush" because...
a) Crush is a really lame word. What, you're going to squash the poor guy?
b) It was less, much much less, than a crush.

Before I've conciously realized my lack of ability to become emotionally dependable on anything other than myself, I guess I've always forced myself (using many self-to-self conversations) to toss aside those feelings I have for a boy. (The tossing out is usually followed by many mental stompings.)

For the past two months, though, I've been doing things for me. I dress pretty for me. I walk out of class when I want to walk out of class. I park in a certain parking spot because I want to park there. It was all about ME.

Me. Me. Me.

And I loved every second of it.

But NOW, when I am more than comfortable in my own skin, being my own person, I develop a physical attraction. Oh lord.

Physical attraction is not as bad as emotional attraction, I'll admit. However, it doesn't make it any less annoying.

This new development needs to go away. Leave me alone. Find someone else to harasss.

I absolutely hate this.

This awful feeling of having your happiness in someone else's hands. This scary feeling that someone has the capability of making or breaking your day. This saddening feeling that you've lost control of yourself.

All this makes me want to punch him, perferably, in the face. Or stomp on his foot so hard, he'd need surgery to correct his toe placement. Maybe even egg his car. TeePee his house. Throw crappy furniture on his front lawn. Shave off an eyebrow.

The worst, however, is this barely-suppressible urge to kiss him until he melts.

(Or I melt, whichever comes first.)

But I can't do any of that.
Why?

...Because I'm sane.

Ugh. Insanity never looked so good.